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permission from the author.

The contents of this story
are fictional. Any resemblance of characters to living or lived persons
is strictly coincidental. Certain characters engage in sexual acts that
may or may not be legal in the state or country in which a reader may reside.
Any reader with objections to graphic descriptions of sexual encounters
between males, who may not have reached the legal age of consent, or whose
local, regional, state or national jurisprudence prohibits such descriptions,
should not read further.

__________________________________________

There were four of us going
to the wreck site. I didn't know them, they didn't know me, but that's
the norm. We'd all be good friends by the time we finished two dives. A
jeep-looking jitney pulled up to the hotel at the exact time advertised,
and we piled in. The driver spoke no English, the dive master -- Koda --
was maybe twenty, twenty-five, and prattled nonsense nonstop. I tuned him
out.

The other people were a woman
from San Diego, and a couple of guys from Dallas. The woman, Marsha, looked
forty, but was probably less. Her face told of countless gin and tonics,
or Cuervas, or whiskeys. She had huge boobs, which seemed like magnets
for Koda's eyes. The men were nondescript. Henry was about fifty, heavy-set
with jowls and a paunch, Alan was much younger, say thirty-five, and slimmer.
The Maker had not blessed him with handsome features, but he had a nice
smile. After we exchanged names, I just watched the scenery in silence
as we headed out.

The jitney took us from the
hotel first to the dive shop near the beach, me hiding under the canopy
from the gruelling sun. I'd been on vacation for twelve days and on Bali
for two days, but the sun was still too strong for my skin, despite the
factor 25 sunscreen I'd bought at the pharmacy in Billings before I went
to the airport. Yeah, Montana.

I got my PADI certificate
in Hawaii last year on my vacation, when Patty and I spent a couple of
weeks there, trying to patch our marriage back together. It was a lot of
fun, and we had a good time, but as soon as we got back to the farm, we
knew it hadn't worked. The same arguments, the same lousy evenings, the
same strained atmosphere at the dinner table. The kids could tell something
was really wrong, and it tore us both apart.

We never could figure out
what went wrong. We dated all through high school, all through college
(we both went to Colorado State) and got married the week after graduation.
We weren't virgins when we married, but we gave our virginity to each other
in our junior year in College, and I never had sex with anybody but her
until after we got the divorce. We had Josh, then Jen, then Bart and Bret
(twins) and then stopped, despite the teachings of the Church. We were
only twenty-six, and four kids were more than a handful when you have a
farm to run.

We talked with our priest,
David McCarthy, and told him we couldn't handle any more, at least for
a couple of years. Patty was tired most of the time, what with caring for
the kids and the house, and I had no spare time at all. We couldn't afford
a hired hand, and of course the kids were no help -- Josh was just six last
week.

Father McCarthy was no help
at all. He said it was a sin to practice birth control, especially since
we were both young, handsome, and healthy. I never went to our church again
after that. Patty insisted we use the pill, as she hated the way condoms
got in the way of making love. But it didn't work. We separated in January,
and the divorce was final in July. I bought her a house in town, putting
a second mortgage on the farm. She's . . . dating a guy from a farm over
on the East Side of the county. I'm not ready for that yet. I used a prostitute
a couple of times in September, but it was no good. A combination of guilt
trip and clinical wham, bam. Plus, I hate condoms. I love life more.

After the divorce, I started
to go to the Methodist Church in town, and that seems to suit me better.
Patty is afraid to leave St. Barnabas, but she's asked me to take Josh
to my church once or twice a month, so that he can learn about the other
religions. Patty and me have stayed friends despite all the divorce stuff,
and we spend most weekends with the kids, together. I mean, I love her
deeply, we just can't be married to each other. I'm too driven, I think.

So this year, once the crops
were in, I left Gary Bartholomew installed at the ranch as hired hand,
and I took this two-week diving trip. The first stop was Fiji, for some
fantastic wall drift diving, then the Great Barrier, for the experience
of a lifetime, then here in Bali for a little wreck, drift, and night diving.
I was scheduled to go home on Sunday -- Fiji to Hong Kong to San Francisco
to Salt Lake to Billings. Ugh.

Gary is Rusty Bartholomew's
son. He hasn't got the money yet to buy his own farm, and wants to stay
in Montana. He's hiring out, just like I did, until he has a stake big
enough to pick up a parcel. Nice kid, good grades, hard worker. He hasn't
got a girl yet. I told him to hang loose until he got the scratch together
for a farm, and he said that was exactly his plan. He went through a two-year
Ag program at college, and did pretty well. He's just twenty now, so he's
got time. He's a real looker, so he won't have any trouble getting a mate
when the time comes.

So anyway, here I am, my
two weeks almost up, and maybe twenty dives in -- but I haven't got laid
once. There was a nice blonde on the boat in Cairns, but she wasn't looking
for more than a nice meal and a little romance. She was a little old for
me anyway -- probably over thirty.

The jitney stopped at the
dive shop for the tanks and regulators, and jolted me out of my reveries.
I had my own skin and fins, so I just took a regulator from the counter
and put it into my dive bag, and went outside to wait for the others. I
sat in front of the shop, watching the early morning traffic pass.

"You wan' café?" said
a voice from behind me.

I looked over my shoulder
and saw a Fiji kid, age undetermined, wearing nothing but a skimpy Speedo
knock-off. Body fat no more than five percent, the usual lithe figure these
people all seem to have until they get married and go to rotund. A big
smile, perfect white teeth. He had one of those flawless South Pacific
honey-coloured skins, mahogany-black hair that looked softer than the Japanese
hair, which somehow always looks coarse to me. His lips were full, not
Negroid, not Caucasian, just full.

"Sure!" I said. "Black without."

He disappeared into the shop.
I couldn't help noticing his butt, small, round, shimmering but taut. Nothing
lascivious, mind you -- I just noticed.

I looked back onto the road,
crammed with vehicles of every sort, and just people-watched. The boy came
back with the coffee in less than a minute.

"You alone here Bali?" he
asked. It's something I noticed here -- people have no reticence in posing
questions of tourists.

"Yes," I said. "Thank you."

"For?"

"The coffee."

He grinned. "It pleases me."

"What?"

"That someone gives thank
you for me to bring café."

I didn't know what to say,
so I sipped the coffee. It was strong and full of flavour, almost as if
a little cinnamon or some other spice had been added.

"You dive today?"

"Yes. There are four of us."

"No, Sa'ab," he said. "One
stay on boat."

"Who?"

"Boyfriend of big man."

I was a little startled.
"Why do you say boyfriend?"

"It show in the eyes that
he love him." came the response. "You can not hide it."

"I'm sure you misunderstand,"
I said automatically.

"No," he said. "I know what
is."

"I see," I said, amused.
"I will have to ask them."

"Please, no," he said. "You
will see yourself. Prokka does not wish to bring them unhappy."

"You are Prokka?" I asked.
He nodded, almost shyly. "Well, then, I am Jon," I said, and held out my
hand.

He looked at it, then at
me, and said "You have very big hands," and put his into mine. It wasn't
a handshake, somehow. His hand was delicate, strong but with long thin
fingers, and he wrapped them around mine and squeezed, but differently
than you or I would. It was like a mini-massage between his thumb and fingers,
but no grip.

"Yes," I said. "I'm a farmer."

"Really?" he said, with a
smile almost of delight. "My father is farmer! Rice!"

I just smiled. I doubted
he would understand alfalfa and barley.

"Would you like for me to
be dive buddy?" he said, not looking at me. "I am very good under water."
He still held my hand, now in both hands. It felt . . . nice.

"Will that be okay with the
dive Master?" I asked.

"It his idea," said Prokka.
"He sees I like you."

Whoa. What was this all about?

"You like me?"

"Oh yes, Sa'ab,' he gushed.
"You are big and strong!" He put his hand on my forearm and squeezed it,
almost like a massage. "You have golden hair on your arms and head. I like."

I think I actually blushed.
I was speechless. I had a guy hit on me once in Billings, but that was
way easy to handle. The guy was drunk, and I just sent him away. I wasn't
sure if this was a case of Prokka hitting on me, or just looking for a
big tip, figuring that any guy alone in Paradise must be gay.

"You're good underwater?"

"Yes, Sa'ab. I have many
hours. I no use weights."

Oh, great. Nothing like being
put down because you need a few kilos of weight to keep you from bobbing
to the surface. I take four kilos.

"You know the waters?"

"Oh, yes, Sa'ab! I dive this
wreck at least ten times ten times."

"Well, okay, I guess," I
said smiling. What harm could it do? It wasn't as if I was going to lead
the kid on, or anything. I'm straight.

We finally left for the boat
at eight, and it was confirmed that Alan was not going to dive. He only
had one lung. Not the Big C, just a cruel joke of nature -- his left lung
simply never developed. First time I ever heard of that. I was impressed
that he would go on a dive trip with someone and just sit on the boat,
only to hear the stories of glories seen, paradise visited.

I watched Alan and Henry
surreptitiously, and saw that Prokka was right. They looked at each other
in that way only two people who are in a relationship look. I was surprised
that I hadn't noticed it before. I don't know anybody who's gay in Billings,
so I have no standards of comparison, I guess. Henry and Alan don't look
gay, anyway. They're both masculine, and . . . I'm not sure what looking
gay is, anyway. I mean, you only see it on TV once in a while.

The boat was an old clunker,
like they usually are on the islands. That's okay. It's more fun. It took
an hour to get to the wreck, and another half to get the gear on, go through
the usual drills (cutting corners here and there, almost everywhere). Prokka
hovered near me most of the way, but made himself useful as well. He kept
looking at me in a way I found a little alarming. "Calm yourself, Jon,"
I told myself. "It's only a harmless flirtation."

When I put on my gear, it
was Prokka who did the adjusting, checked the straps, attached the weights.
Nothing out of the ordinary, very professional. He wasn't kidding about
being buoyant-neutral. Not a single weight, no skin, no BCD, just his trunks
and a T-shirt under the tanks and vest. His butt was almost obscenely pretty.

We spent the almost-hour
prowling around the wreck, a World War Two freighter torpedoed by the Japanese.
Lots of Morays, parrots, a few small sharks, a couple of octopus, a million
and three candidates for aquariums, each more beautiful to look at than
the last. Prokka took my hand at one point and guided me under the rudder,
and showed me a crevice where at least a dozen giant crayfish lurked. Spiny
lobsters, if you will.

With a sudden movement, he
grabbed two of them, and held them together so they could not flap their
tails. If they had, his hands would have been badly cut by the spines.
Somehow, he managed to tie them together with a strip of rubber tubing
that he held in his mouth, his regulator bobbing to one side. I went to
help, and we got them into a net bag without either of us getting cut --
no small achievement. They were two feet long. Prokka was going to have
a fine dinner!

We reached the end of our
air, and went to the surface slowly, just enjoying the scenery. When we
were half way up, at about fifteen meters, Prokka grabbed my arm and pointed
down to our left. Three rays were doing a graceful dance above a sandy
patch on a shelf, indescribably beautiful. Somehow, in the watching, my
arm went around Prokka's waist and his around mine as we turned with the
rays. It felt perfectly natural -- it was the best way to pivot together.

We surfaced a few dozen meters
from the boat, and waited for it to come to us. The other two, Henry and
Marsha, were with the Dive Master, Koda, already on the boat. Some people
use their air faster than do others.

"We eat together tonight!"
said Prokka, a big grin on his face as he held the bag in from of me. "Yes?"

"Yes!" I said without thinking.
The crayfish looked huge and tantalizing.

"I glad happy!" Prokka said,
as the boat began to head towards us. He put his free hand on my shoulder
and squeezed. "I want show you home!"

I wondered what that meant.
"What the hell." I thought. "You don't have to sleep with him. Just have
a good time."

We clambered up on the boat
and doffed our gear. Alan and Henry were impressed with the lobsters, but
Marsha cringed. She said she'd grabbed one once and got her palms lacerated,
and had never eaten them again. Koda put them in a tank in the front to
keep them fresh.

We motored over to a cove
between two islands, dropped anchor and ate lunch, a tasty concoction of
rice, shrimp, veggies and spices. I recognized only saffron.

After, we lay under the canopy
as the food worked its way through. Prokka was next to me, Alan and Henry
were on the bow in the sun, and Marsha was on the wide bench opposite,
snoring lightly. I dozed off, the light tossing of the waves as hypnotic
as "somnifères."

When I woke, there was a
nylon jacket over my trunks. A good thing, as I had an erection. I wondered
who had put the jacket there. I wondered why I had an erection for a second,
then realized it was because there was someone snuggled against my side
-- Prokka. My arm was around him. I had dreamed of . . . kissing him. Oh,
shit.

"You very big," whispered
Prokka in my ear. His head was on my shoulder. "I hide from lady."

So, having no better solution,
I sat up, let Prokka hold the jacket as I sat farther up on the hull, and
rolled back into the sea. My treacherous dick was at full mast, but at
least it stayed under the nylon, poking over my hipbone. Prokka looked
at it openly as I sat up, and I saw that he too had a pocket trout. Smaller,
but definitely not a miniature.

He dove in after me, and
we trod water for a few seconds, then swam a few dozen yards to a butte
that almost poked out of the water. We stood on the sandy centre, facing
one another, and laughed at the beauty of it all.

Then Prokka reached out to
me, putting his hands on my waist and pulled himself to me, his eyes somehow
hypnotizing me into acceptance. When his lips brushed mine, I was lost.
I pulled him to me, his mouth opening to my tongue, his nips rubbing mine,
his arms around my neck, my erection raging to escape the nylon prison.
His lips were like velvet, but with a strength to them I was not used to.
His erection was pressed to my hip, and it felt like it was meant to be
there.

I got dizzy with the blood
pounding in my head, and pulled back, looking into his deep, brown, olive
eyes.

"You want me?" he said softly.

"Yes."

"How long you stay?"

"I leave Sunday."

"It only tonight."

"I know."

"We have much to do," he
said, giving me a soft peck on the lower lip.

I started to say something,
but he stopped me with his tongue, then pushed away from me and started
swimming back towards the boat. I peed in the water, then followed, easily
catching him up before he got to the boat.

We clambered in over the
side, and made enough noise to wake Marsha. Koda was already laying out
the gear for the afternoon dive, and the boat driver got a kick on the
foot to wake him. He hopped up and started the engine without any fuss,
not even pausing to stretch. Prokka hauled up the anchor, and then we motored
out maybe a hundred yards.

The afternoon dive was just
a typical drift dive. Besides the usual clouds of colourful fish, we saw
countless sponges, a few giant clams, more morays, lots of the blue starfish,
plenty of fan and brain coral, and so on. Besides the usual crackling of
the ocean, at one stage I heard high-pitched whistles, and when we looked
up, there was a trio of porpoises off to the right, herding a school of
fish. I couldn't see well enough to know if they were eating as they herded,
but I imagine so. Prokka came up to me and held my hand as we watched them
head away. I put my hand on his back, just at the waist, and he gave me
a look that said it was the right thing to do.

I looked around for the others,
but Prokka pointed up and back, and I saw them overhead and a hundred yards
behind, already getting into the boat. My gauge showed nearly a half tank
left, and Prokka's showed even more, and I still had half an hour at this
depth, so we agreed to stay down for another fifteen or twenty. We drifted
together, hand in hand, and I could feel my erection coming back.

"Horny bastard," I thought
to myself, just as Prokka stopped and turned to me. He put his mask to
mine, and his arm around my neck to hold himself in place, then put his
hand into my Speedo's and grasped my dick. His eyes registered a combination
of surprise, excitement, affection, whatever, then he closed them and grasped
me again. Suddenly, he let me go, and moved back, and shrugged out of the
straps at the bottom of his tanks, then slipped out of his trunks. His
dick was erect and perfectly proportioned, perhaps six inches or a little
more in length. His trunks went into a pocket of my BCD, and he pulled
my trunks down, letting my dick wave in the water. I began to see what
he was up to, and wondered if it would work.

Then his face mask was against
mine again, and his legs went around my waist, just under the BCD. He grabbed
at my dick with his hand as I put my arms around his body, holding him
in position, and he guided the end of my dick to his butt. With a push
-- no, a pull, from his legs, and a thrust from me at the same time, the
head of my dick popped inside him. There was no lubricant other than the
water and maybe a little precum, so it hurt a little when I pushed into
him. I wasn't expecting that.

His eyes widened, I'm sure
in pain, but he kept himself in place, pulling himself onto me as we drifted
over the sponges and coral on the seabed. I was amazed that he could get
me into him at all, and even more amazed when I felt his butt up against
my groin. His insides gripped me incredibly tightly, and then he started
to move us into a back and forth rhythm, my dick moving in and out maybe
half way each time, all the way back in on the "in" stroke. I let go with
one hand to stroke his dick, help him reach an orgasm like I was about
to reach, but he grasped my hand and put it back in place with a shake
of his head. We lost our balance a little, so we were drifting almost upside
down, but that doesn't matter under water.

I started to feel the impending
orgasm, from deep inside my belly, and I grunted through the mask so he
would know. He squealed, sort of, and I felt these amazing contractions
going on around my dick, and that sent me right over the edge, I started
pumping my semen deep inside him, just as I saw a tendril of his semen
float down towards our face masks.

A fish rushed up and
gobbled it down, and suddenly there were eight or nine fish, all trying
to get at Prokkas's cum as he pumped it out into the water, without his
or my hand to assist. We looked down, to see one fish positioned right
at the slit of his dick, between us, and when a jet of semen rushed out,
the fish dashed forward and swallowed almost all of it at once. I couldn't
help but giggle through my face mask, and looked up at Prokka's eyes. He
was staring into my eyes, an almost gauzy look that I recognized -- it was
the same look Patty got when she had a really good orgasm.

I wanted to kiss him, tell
him what I felt, tell him how good he felt, but the mask got in the way.
I looked at my gauge, and still had a third of a tank. We'd taken only
five minutes to get to one of the best -- and definitely the most unique
-- orgasms I'd ever had.

He slowly pulled away from
me, and I felt a fish nibbling at my dick as it came out of him, probably
more then one. As the head of my dick popped out, a fish nibbled right
at the slit, and it felt really strange. I expected it to hurt -- some fish
have teeth! -- But it was just a peck.

Prokka pulled his legs down
and then helped me pull my trunks back up, then took his slip back from
the pocket of my BCD and wriggled into them, while I held him still. Then
we tried a kiss. I took a couple of moderately deep breaths from the regulator,
and took it out of my mouth, and he saw and did the same. The damned masks
got in the way, but we managed a ten-second French kiss that got my dick
twitching again.

Prokka pointed at his gauge,
then up, and I nodded in agreement, a little sadly, as I put the regulator
back in my mouth. I had crossed a huge divide, in a place and in a way
that I would never have thought possible, with a boy of no more than nineteen;
my whole world had been changed.

When we got to the surface,
we were a half-mile from the boat, but they saw us right away, and headed
for us. We trod water and grinned at each other, knowing that the night
was going to be full of fun, excitement, loving sex and the creation of
beautiful memories, and that what we had just done was merely the amuse-gueule
for the banquet before us.